


Whisky Sour

by Golden_Dreams



Category: Disney Duck Universe, DuckTales (Cartoon 2017)
Genre: Alcohol, Depression, Gen, Sadness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-16
Updated: 2019-04-16
Packaged: 2020-01-15 01:56:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,547
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18488926
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Golden_Dreams/pseuds/Golden_Dreams
Summary: Scrooge's favorite drink doesn't taste so good anymore.





	Whisky Sour

Ingredients:

  * Two fluid ounces of Scotch (important!) whisky. 
  * One fluid ounce of freshly-squeezed lemon juice. 
  * One-half fluid ounce of sugar syrup (boiled at a ratio of 2:1, sugar to water). 
  * One-half fluid ounce of pasteurised egg white. 



Instructions:

  1. Shake all the ingredients together with ice. 
  2. Strain back into the shaker, and shake without ice. 
  3. Strain into an ice-filled old-fashioned glass. 
  4. Garnish with lemon and orange zest twists.



* * *

Scrooge’s favorite cocktail recipe. Duckworth knew it like the back of his hand, ever since the day he was hired. It was among the first instructions he had ever received from Scrooge:

 

“Make you and I a couple of good ol’ whisky sours, Duckworth, to celebrate your hiring!” Scrooge had said, creating goodwill with his new butler while also testing his bartending abilities, and he’d be damned if Duckworth didn’t deliver. The drinks he made were consistently perfect. Whether it was Scrooge’s whisky sours, Beakley’s favorite martini recipe, something colorful and sweet for Goldie, or taking requests from dinner guests, Duckworth always made it just right every time, regardless of the occasion.

 

As much as he enjoyed making drinks, though, that’s what he was hired to do at the end of the day: be at Scrooge’s beck and call. If Donald and Della were turning 21, and Scrooge wanted to celebrate with a homemade scorpion bowl for the three of them, he would make it. If Goldie conspicuously made her way downstairs in the wee hours of the morning, wearing naught but Scrooge’s bathrobe and covered in sweat, and asked for two  _ strong _ margaritas, he would make it. If Scrooge had a falling out with his grandnephews over their discovery of the Spear of Selene and was entering a depressive spiral in which he repeatedly requested his favorite cocktail, unfortunately, Duckworth would make it.

 

Duckworth sighed sadly as he strained the alcoholic mixture into the same old-fashioned glass Scrooge had been drinking out of all evening. Duckworth had left the manor with Beakley and Webby the previous day, but his guilt had caused him to return. He couldn’t imagine the grief and pain Scrooge was going through, so he came back, and, as if confirming his worst fears, his boss was already in the midst of a massive emotional downturn.

 

After brooding in his old chair for a while, Scrooge had slowly dragged his legs down to the living room, sat himself on the couch, and began requesting his favorite drink from Duckworth, over and over again. The undead butler wished he could help Scrooge, instead of enabling his dangerous wishes, but ultimately, he was there to do his job.

 

Or was he?

 

“Sir...do you really want me to keep making these for you?” Duckworth asked as he cautiously approached Scrooge, who was slumped over on the couch and staring blankly at the floor. As much as he felt a duty to obey, he couldn’t help but feel guilty that Scrooge was currently  _ very _ drunk. His age, combined with his relatively short stature, meant that he wouldn’t be drinking anyone under the table, and his tolerance was fairly low.

 

“...Yes…” Scrooge mumbled in reply, his head slightly rolling as he said so.

 

Duckworth hated seeing him like this. He had only witnessed this level of abject despondency when Della originally disappeared, and it was worse now than it was then. 

 

“As much as I desire to cater to you, sir, I can’t help but think this behavior is self-destructive,” Duckworth replied hesitantly as he placed the glass into Scrooge’s waiting hand, who immediately started drinking it without even a glance. Perhaps he was too used to the motion by then.

 

Scrooge downed the drink in a few gulps, clearly numbed to his own actions. He pulled the glass away from his mouth, and clumsily placed it down on the coffee table in front of him harder than he meant to. He then belched, but it sounded more to Duckworth as though he was suppressing his own vomit; it’s hard to drink as much as he had and  _ not  _ throw up.

 

The sight was almost too much for the ghost to bear, and he now felt determined to put a stop to it, however he could. But how would Scrooge react? Would he get angry? Just make the drinks himself, and possibly hurt himself in the process?

 

A part of Duckworth wanted to continue, and just serve as he had done all throughout his time at McDuck Manor. He wouldn’t have to think about Scrooge’s emotional suffering, and he could escape the situation that way, but he couldn’t imagine doing that to Scrooge. He was his boss, sure, but he also had a rapport with the aged billionaire few others could match.

 

“Make me another,” Scrooge said monotonously, pulling Duckworth out of his thoughts. Scrooge still wasn’t even looking at him, just staring straight ahead. The sudden combination of all the sensations made Duckworth momentarily pause. Scrooge looked older than he ever had now. Tears had long-since stained the feathers on his face and soaked into the front of his jacket. He reeked of alcohol, and was a sickly pale shade. Duckworth had decided he had seen enough. He had handled angry Scrooge before, and he just figured this time would be the same. Give him some time, and he’d come around and be okay.

 

“No. I will not enable this behavior anymore,” Duckworth refused firmly, but calmly.

 

Scrooge tensed at his answer, and slowly turned to look at him. His eyes were red and bloodshot from the near-continuous crying, and his beak was trembling. Duckworth could tell Scrooge was trying to look angry, but was far too depressed and drunk to do so.

 

“Fine. Just leave me alone then,” Scrooge replied, turning back to the floor to continue his vacant stare, his voice warbling in the way only those who are about to cry exhibit.

 

“I’m sorry to inform you, but I’m not going anywhere, sir. You’re clearly not well,” Duckworth said in an almost motherly fashion.

 

“I suppose I...should be grateful– _ hic _ –then, but I don’t deserve it now,” Scrooge slurred gravely. “I’ve pushed them all away...I was cornered...I lashed out. Now they’ll never forgive me.”

 

“With all due respect, sir, the new revelation regarding their mother has clearly upset them. I do not believe even  _ you _ can fix this inside of a couple of days. They need time to process what has happened, sir,” Duckworth calmly responded. Scrooge had the tendency to push people away when they were upset with him; it was easier to do than to face his own mistakes. Duckworth knew this all too well, and now he resolved it was his duty to help Scrooge forgive himself.

 

“...You don’t understand. I did it again. I pushed– _ hic _ –my family away again. I lost them all...and they aren’t coming back…” Scrooge nearly whispered, choked sobs punctuating his statements. Duckworth could see, even from a bit of a distance, that he was trembling.

 

Being a ghost had several benefits, the best of which being selective corporeality. He himself was incorporeal, but he could still interact with objects normally. His undead nature made him an even better butler than before he had died, as he was able to respond to Scrooge by simply passing through the walls, floors, and ceilings of the mansion, cutting his response time by a noticeable margin. Not to mention, cleaning took far less time.

 

However, now more than ever, Duckworth wished he was alive again. What Scrooge needed right now was true affection and understanding, and he wasn’t sure how much of that he could provide as a ghost, his lack of experience in emotional comfort aside.

 

Despite this, Duckworth was determined to give his best effort.

 

He approached Scrooge slowly, concern plastered on his face. Noticing his butler coming towards him out of the corner of his eye, Scrooge turned to face him, tears still freely flowing from his eyes. Without a word spoken between the two, Duckworth mimicked sitting down next to Scrooge, took a throw pillow, and wrapped his arm around Scrooge’s body, providing a sort of proxy affection. As soon as Scrooge could feel Duckworth’s ghostly hand rub up and down the pillow, his tough-guy act was all over.

 

Scrooge began sobbing into his hands, loudly wailing in despair and frustration. He realized he must have been incredibly worse for wear if his typically uptight and professional butler was showing him affection, as much as he appreciated and yearned for it. The knowledge that at least someone was still there for him, contrasted with all the people he loved so dearly yet had pushed away, put him over the edge. Duckworth winced. It pained him to see someone he cared about so deeply be in so much distress, but he was consoled by the fact that he could at least provide Scrooge with a modicum of affection, even if it was in an unconventional way.

 

He moved the pillow to Scrooge’s back and began to slowly rub circles into it to try to calm him down, but it was futile. The only thing that would help Scrooge now was time, and Duckworth’s continued love and support.

 

It was all he had left.


End file.
